


journeys end in lovers' meeting

by lily_winterwood



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Episode 9 ending from Viktor's POV, Introspection, M/M, Schrodinger's Proposal, Spoilers for episode 9, feeeeeeeeeeels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: And though he missed the podium this time around, Yuuri Katsuki qualified for the Grand Prix Final by the skin of his teeth. Viktor had watched him hug Yakov in the kiss and cry, and could see a strange deadness in his protégé's eyes at that — as if Yuuri had tried for some scrap of comfort in the physical act of hugging, and found none. He had known then and there that he had to be the first person to greet Yuuri when he stepped out of the airport back home.The Episode 9 ending from Viktor's POV.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I was (alongside the rest of the fandom, yes) completely entranced by the ending sequence of episode 9 and wanted to write out Viktor's side of it. 
> 
> This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. And there might be quite a few since I wrote this late at night. Let me know if you find any.

_O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?_  
_O stay and hear! your true-love’s coming_  
_That can sing both high and low;_  
_Trip no further, pretty sweeting,_  
_Journeys end in lovers’ meeting—_  
_Every wise man’s son doth know._  

* * *

Viktor can’t remember how long he’s been waiting in the arrivals area of this airport. It has been a long day — a long _several_ days, considering the sheer amount of _travelling_ he’s done. His own flight over from Moscow had been plagued with worry about Makkachin’s odds of survival, and even though upon his arrival at the Katsuki family onsen he had found that Makkachin had indeed survived and was well on his way to recovery, he still never stopped worrying.

It had been too late to fly back to Moscow at that point, and he wouldn’t have done it anyway even though a part of him had screamed for him to do it. He couldn’t abandon Makkachin so soon after barely just avoiding losing him forever. He couldn’t even bring himself to scold the old dog for stealing the buns and scaring him so. Makkachin had seen the best of him and the worst of him, and if Viktor was being totally honest with himself, he needed Makkachin just as much as the dog needed him.

So for the first time since the press conference, Viktor had been squished in between the Katsukis and the Nishigoris (and an increasingly drunk Minako) as they gathered around a livestream of the Rostelecom Cup projected onto the TV in the dining room. And he had watched Yuuri’s performance from afar, knowing just how much his student was trying.

Even the TV announcer had pointed it out — Yuuri Katsuki was skating out his love for the world to see. It was an imperfect love; he popped one jump and landed some others improperly. But it was a brave love, too, and Viktor couldn’t help but feel the curling of anxiety and guilt in his own stomach at the fact that he was not there to witness it first-hand.

And though he missed the podium this time around, Yuuri Katsuki qualified for the Grand Prix Final by the skin of his teeth. Viktor had watched him hug Yakov in the kiss and cry, and could see a strange deadness in his protégé's eyes at that — as if Yuuri had tried for some scrap of comfort in the physical act of hugging, and found none.

He had known then and there that he had to be the first person to greet Yuuri when he stepped out of the airport back home. And so now he sits in the arrivals area, with Makkachin waiting patiently by his side.

 _My life has been charmed_ , he thinks. His oldest companion is, by the hand of God, still here with him. And Yuuri is returning to him in just an hour or two more.

_What is Yuuri to me, then?_

Viktor had spent most of the train ride up to Fukuoka dwelling on this, and for some reason he still can’t find an answer. All he knows right now is that every three minutes he checks his phone, just in case Yuuri has texted him and he missed the notification, and every two minutes he looks up at the arrivals board, trying to will the incoming flight from Moscow to turn from “On Time” to “Arrived”.

When it does turn, he checks his phone again. Some of the other skaters at Rostelecom have tweeted that #YuuriKatsuki had gone on a hug rampage just after the medals ceremony. Yurio has sent him a vaguely-worded text about ‘taking care’ of the ‘stupid needy katsudon’. But no messages from Yuuri himself.

He looks up at the arrivals board. Yuuri must be going through customs. The kid in the seat across from him yawns, and Viktor suddenly realises that he doesn’t even remember the last time he slept. The flight from Moscow had him too worried to sleep properly, and then he’d been swept up in everything else, and maybe he’d had a brief nap on the train over to the airport, but of course that doesn’t count. Factoring in the jetlag and… well.

He’s not exactly presentable.

Viktor runs a hand through his hair, remembering the way Yuuri had placed a finger at the partition at the Cup of China, and his teasing pat right after. That had been the night Yuuri surprised him with a quad flip, and he’d gone and surprised him right back with a kiss.

Of course they’d talked about that after on the flight home from Beijing, but even that talk had felt somewhat unsatisfactory, as if Yuuri was still holding himself back from something. As if a part of him still doubted that Viktor would stay with him, win or lose.

Even if they had started out with the understanding that Viktor was only there to get Yuuri the gold at the Grand Prix Finals, wouldn’t the months in between then and now have changed that? They had for Viktor, and yet Yuuri still seemed to think their time together had a deadline, even after Viktor had kissed him on international television.

They hadn’t done anything more than that since then. Though Yuuri no longer balked at casual touches, lingering gazes, and chaste kisses, Viktor had not found the courage to claim his protégé’s lips again, even though the temptation to do so had become greater with each passing day he spent at Yuuri’s side.

Funny how it only takes a couple days of absence to make Viktor question if that had been less self-control and more cowardice.

_What is Yuuri to me?_

Viktor tries running a hand through his hair again. He smooths it back, brushes some dust off his coat, adjusts his scarf. He kicks himself mentally for not changing into something nicer to greet Yuuri with. And he keeps his eyes trained on the glass partition separating the arrivals area from customs and baggage claim.

Makkachin barks suddenly and runs up to the glass as a series of people begin to pour through the passage to the arrivals area. The flight from Moscow has arrived, and Viktor sits up straighter, scanning the crowd for any familiar sign —

One man on the other side of the glass straightens up in recognition. He’s wearing a mask over his mouth and nose, but there’s no mistaking him. It’s Yuuri, so close now and yet so far, parted from Viktor by a thin sheet of glass.

Viktor leaps to his feet and races for the doors. As if he is just as eager to get through the glass that separates them, Yuuri picks up speed as well, their paces matching each other, their eyes never leaving one another’s. When Viktor finally reaches the door he stops, and Yuuri skids and jitters and the glass slides open to admit him through.

Viktor’s arms are open almost like an instinct, and Yuuri barrels right into them, and the way their bodies slot together is as natural as breathing. Yuuri is sweaty from travel, exhausted from jetlag, still reeling from the events of the Rostelecom Cup. And yet somehow he is still the most beautiful thing that Viktor has ever had the good fortune to hold in his arms.

 _This is what Yuuri is to me_.

A year ago Viktor would have thought his medals would always have that honour. Or his skates. The ice was all he knew; it had been his entire life since he was very young. But he had quickly learnt, during his time with Yuuri Katsuki, that he couldn’t take such things for granted. Now he can’t even take Makkachin for granted anymore; he’d come too close to losing him.

The thought that one day, sooner or later, he’d lose Yuuri, too, is far too much for him to bear.

“Yuri,” he begins. “I’ve been thinking about what I can do as your coach from now on.”

He feels Yuuri shift in his arms, however imperceptibly. “I’ve been thinking about that, too,” his protégé says quietly, his entire body tensing as if he’s steeling himself for something. Viktor feels his stomach do a quad flip.

He feels the cold absence of Yuuri’s arms seconds later as the man pushes him back, but his hands remain on Viktor’s shoulders like two burning brands. Yuuri’s expression is serious; his brown eyes sparkle with determination.

“Please, take care of me until I retire,” he says, his words half-caught between prayer and proposal, and Viktor has never been more keenly aware of just how full his heart feels at this moment, at this offer from Yuuri to stay with him, come what may.

He can’t help it. He takes Yuuri’s hand, pressing a kiss to his fingers.

“Sounds like a marriage proposal,” he remarks when he pulls back, and Yuuri’s eyes widen slightly before he smiles, accepting and serene. Viktor vaguely remembers a different Yuuri Katsuki on an overcast beach, stuttering at the very implication that Viktor could try to be his boyfriend.

How things have changed since then. Yuuri now steps forward again, into his space, his arms tight around him, his hands clinging to him like he’s drowning and Viktor is his only salvation. Viktor wonders how much more his heart can take before it starts to burst, and he finally lends voice to the hope that’s been burning inside him since Yuuri first stepped through that glass door.

“I wish you’d never retire,” he says. If Yuuri wants him at his side until he retires, then Viktor is going to try, with every heartbeat he has left, to make sure that day never comes.

There is a sudden wetness at his shoulder, and Yuuri’s voice is shaky when he responds, “then let’s win gold together at the Grand Prix Final.” But Viktor doesn’t comment on that. He only holds Yuuri closer, content to stay forever in this moment, where the world consists of only them.

But the real world marches on, and Yuuri has to break their embrace to rescue his forgotten bags from the baggage claim. But as they walk out of the terminal for the buses that will take them to the nearest train station, Yuuri’s hand finds Viktor’s, and Viktor takes it with the intent of never letting go.

* * *

_What is love? ’tis not hereafter;_  
_Present mirth hath present laughter;_  
_What’s to come is still unsure:_  
_In delay there lies no plenty,—_  
_Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty,_  
_Youth’s a stuff will not endure._

**Author's Note:**

> The poems excerpted are from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.  
> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com/), if you wanna come by and flail some more!


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